Devil's Hole
by Pmp2a-Trish
Summary: Hannibal Heyes' first days in Devils Hole. Heyes-only story.


**Heyes**

Horse hooves beat behind him. _This is it_, Heyes thought, _the end of it all_. His gun was loaded, six bullets, with a full belt around his waist. It might be enough to save him, but at what cost, he wondered? His left hand still pressed down on the bleeding wound, desperate to staunch the blood that continued to pour out. Dividing his attention between his friend and the noise approaching, he grew increasingly unsure. James was growing pale, each breath becoming more desperate.

As the sounds grew louder, he felt a twinge of comfort knowing that, at least, he would not have to bury another comrade. No, now it would be his turn to see what was beyond the grey veil.

As he looked at his revolver, he made his decision, he would not go out of this life a killer. If nothing else, he would greet St. Peter with clean hands, even if he did have a life time's worth of judgement waiting for him, murder would not be on that list. So, if the posse decided to take his life, then so be it – he would not take one of theirs.

Holstering his gun, he pressed both hands on the wound as he watched the men come around the set of rocks. There were six in all, led by a large burly Mexican, each held their guns ready, but there wasn't a gold star to be seen. _Great,_ he thought, _as if a posse isn't bad enough, I'll die at the hands of someone collecting a bounty._

"He is injured bad, eh?" The Mexican asked as he jumped down from his horse and quickly surveyed the man on the ground.

He didn't respond. There was little he could do if they wanted to finish him off, why make things easy for them?

"Lobo." The man commanded. From behind, another man came around.

Cautiously approaching, the man knelt down and checked the injured man's pupils and with Heyes hesitantly allowing, pulled back his shirt, exposing the gaping wound in his shoulder. "He'll make it, but only if we get him to a doc quick." Gently tapping him on his cheek, he asked, "Can you ride?" The man made a sound, but it was neither a yes or no.

"Hank, help Lobo get him to a horse." The leader turned to Heyes, "We have a doctor in town that will take care of him, if he makes the ride, that is."

Heyes nodded and stood, helplessly watching as they pulled James onto a horse, realizing that, just perhaps, his assumption had been wrong. They weren't members of the posse, in fact, they didn't even appear law-abiding. Yet, as he looked them over, he couldn't help but wonder if they would try to collect a bounty once they learned of the price on his head. Cautiously, he nodded, "'Preciate it."

"Is there anyone else injured?"

He shook his head no.

"We have driven off the men that were chasing you."

Nodding in appreciation, he still remained silent. Two men started to make their way out, the one – Lobo, holding on tight to James.

"Which gang is this?"

"Joseph Shaver's gang."

"Ah, Joseph is a good man." He smiled, yet it did not reach his eyes.

"He was." His voice lowered as he glanced towards a set of rocks, beyond which lay a pair of boots, lying still on the ground.

His smile disappeared. "We will see to it that he is given a Christian burial, but not here. The posse will come back to collect any bodies that will make their chase worthwhile. My men will bring Joseph back to camp - no bounty will be claimed on his head."

Heyes released a breath that he didn't realize that he had been holding. Outlaws were notoriously unpredictable, he was grateful that his predictions were wrong.

Horses approached, three men ran towards their leader. "Posse is gone, but there are two men up over the ridge." The tallest of the three, a blond, nodded to the east. "Could be stragglers, could be nobody."

"Very well. Hank, Henry, tend to Joseph." He nodded toward the fallen man. "Everyone, pair up and ride off, when it is clear, bring him out. We will meet back at the Hole." He turned back towards Heyes, "You will ride with me."

"We still have two men at our hideout, I need to get word to them." Heyes protested. "They are just south of Dead Man's Falls."

Taking the information in for a moment, "Healer, you and Wheat bring the men to Devil's Hole. Let them know what has happened."

"Yes sir." They spoke in unison.

Approaching Heyes, he spoke softly, "Three men is no longer a gang, it is at best a mariachi band. Come to Devil's Hole, you can decide your future tomorrow – tonight, you and the rest of your men will be safe."

* * *

Whoever had been watching had disappeared, perhaps they were nobody after all. As they rode, the leader stayed quiet, only speaking when they arrived at the entrance to the hideout. After firing his gun three times, he informed Heyes that he would travel the rest of the way blindfolded. This was an idea that did not sit well with him, not at all. But his need to discover the fate of his friend overruled his desire to remain sighted. If this was the rule he had to follow, then so be it. As they rode, he tried to keep track of the turns. It had been, perhaps a quarter of a mile and they turned right, another quarter of a mile and then left. By the time they stopped, he felt confident that he would be able to find his way out – if he needed to.

As he came off his horse, he looked around. He had to admit, the hideout was nicer than he had expected. Rumors abounded about Devil's Hole, heard even the Calvary couldn't get in, heard about its leader too – Big Jim Santana. Tall tales surrounded the man, he had heard as much good as he had bad, and wasn't sure if he believed either.

Following the man into the leader's cabin, he leaned against a wall, unsure.

"Alright, what happened?" Jim asked.

"We were going for supplies, local sheriff spotted us. Before we realized it, we had half the town on our heels, we lost one man about a mile out of town, Joseph and James were both shot shortly after. Joseph thought he knew a shortcut, turned out to be a dead end."

At the far table, Jim pulled out a bottle and two glasses, pouring them both a drink. "How long have you been riding with Joseph?"

"About a year."

Lowering himself in the chair, he looked deep into his drink. "Joseph was a good man. He had some of the best plans an outlaw could conceive. He only had one shortcoming." He waited for a moment, Heyes did not respond, "He always had trouble keeping his men alive."

Heyes wanted to defend his leader. But the truth was, in the year he'd run with the Shaver gang, he'd seen his share of bloodshed. Joseph's plans were ambitious, but they were also risky. They'd been jumped by too many posses, they'd been spotted by too many sheriffs. At first, he thought this was just the way the world worked inside an outlaw gang, with his experience being limited to a short stint with the Plumber gang, but over time questions kept arising.

"My brother and I became outlaws when I was eighteen. Our family's land had been taken from us, so I guess you could say, we were looking to take a little bit back. The first gang we ran with was with Joseph. I left shortly after, my brother, well… he decided to stay."

"He was also killed by a posse." Heyes finally spoke up.

"Aye, he was also killed by a posse."

The name Santana had been all but forbidden in the Shaver camp. Only spoken in the quietest of tones and even then with glances over the shoulder – never to be voiced in Joseph's presence.

Heyes didn't learn the truth until after a decidedly bad job. They had gone in to hold up a bank, and barely made it out of town alive, with less than $1000 to split. Heyes had taken a bullet in the thigh, James one in the wrist. Angry, he blew up at his leader, asking - quite untactfully, if it was his goal to get everyone killed. Joseph stormed off. Later that evening, he returned, drunker than an alley cat. In that moment, he confessed that he felt responsible for his partner's death. A year prior, they tried to rob a train. Unable to get into the safe, the posse arrived just as they were leaving. When the gunfire started, he was pulled to the ground. As they fell, a bullet found its mark, directly in Armand's chest. It was a bullet that had been aimed at him.

In that moment, watching as his leader broke down into tears, Heyes realized why the name had been forbidden. With discomfort creeping up his back, he left Joseph to his sorrow and chose to never bring it up again.

* * *

"Well, what do you think, boys?" He stood in the quiet of the woods, addressing what was left of the Shaver gang. Kyle and Preacher, the lone remaining members stared back at him. James was still alive, but just barely. He remained in town at the doctor's office, clinging to life.

"We'll do whatever you say, Heyes." Kyle muttered, weakly.

"Devil's Hole is as good as any. If Big Jim is anything like Armand, he's alright in my book." Preacher followed – the only remaining man that had made Armand's acquaintance.

"I'll let Jim know. We'll be the new boys, so we're going to have to mind our place. But they seem fine enough. They've got Joseph's grave ready, we'll be buryin' him in about an hour. Preacher, you'll be leadin' the service."

Without another word, he turned and proceeded back to camp.

* * *

"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance."

Each man stood around the grave, a mound of dirt rising from the earth. Each wore their best suits, a tie purposefully around their necks as they listened to Preacher's words.

"Shall we pray?" He asked the gang, "Our father, who art in heaven…"

Heyes muttered the words right along with everyone else. So familiar was the prayer that little thought was required for its recitation. Instead, he stared at the mound, wondering – for just a moment – what it was that Joseph now saw. Was he reunited with his long lost family, with his partner that he lost so quickly, or was it just darkness, a nothingness that enveloped him? Or worse, was he now among the demons, unable to escape the torturous flames that his childhood pastor warned him about? Clearing his head of the image, he concluded, "For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."

Shaking off the sick feeling, he turned and walked back towards camp, not realizing that Big Jim was right at his side. "Joseph was a man of God." Jim spoke. Staying silent, Heyes felt uncomfortable at the idea that he could sense what he was thinking. "There are all these stories, mostly lies, that we are Robin Hoods. The big bad outlaw with the golden heart that steals from the rich and gives to the poor." Again, Heyes remained silent. "I have never given a dime of my bounty. Except, of course, to a willing lady." He laughed, "But Joseph would send money back home; to the orphanage that he was raised in."

"He never mentioned that." Heyes stopped, facing his new leader.

"No, he wouldn't have." Not pausing, he continued to walk, with Heyes just a step behind him. "When I left, I tried to convince Armand to come with me. You see, Joseph and I did not get along. Too many chiefs in a tribe, as my mother used to say. Armand saw the good in him. He once confided in me that he was the go-between Joseph and the orphanage. He took them the money, and they never knew where it came from." Reaching the leader's cabin, he looked out towards the gang bunkhouse. "I tried so hard to get him to leave with me, but he wouldn't budge." For a moment, he was lost in thought. "I never understood his friendship with Joseph, I don't think I ever will."

After a long, tense moment, Jim shook off whatever was in his thoughts, "Aye, I have something to show you."

Following him into the cabin, Jim pulled out a piece of paper from his locked cabinet, laying it on top of the table in the center of the room.

"Preacher mentioned that you would help Joseph with his plans, eh?"

"Sometimes… when he would listen."

"Ah, well, this is the Bank of Sheridan. I've been looking at it for some time, plus there is a rumor that a large payroll will be deposited next week."

Turning the paper to get a better look, Heyes studied the floor plan. "Do you plan on hitting it during the day?"

"No, no. At night. The deputy sheriff fancies a girl at the saloon, luckily for us, she also fancies a few of our men. We have paid her to give the deputy a very good evening, if you know what I mean?"

Nervously laughing, he nodded yes before turning serious, "How do you plan on getting into the safe?"

"It is made by the Marvin Safe Company out of New York, a few sticks of dynamite should do the trick."

"It could, if you want half the town on your heels."

"Eh?"

"Marvin safes are some of the newest ones around. The steel and cast iron is so thick, you'd need at least ten sticks of dynamite to just loosen the door. The only way you are going to get the money inside – without bringing the building down around you, is to have someone open it."

"And, do you happen to know someone that can crack a safe?"

Heyes smiled, "I might happen to know someone."

"Hannibal, I believe you are going to make an excellent member of our band."

* * *

As they poured over the floor plan, deep in discussion of how to break into the bank as well as the placement of their men, they heard a commotion outside the cabin.

"I done did the wood this week, it ain't my time again." It was Wheat's voice; a member of the gang that Heyes quickly decided that he wasn't fond of.

As they stepped outside, Wheat and Lobo were nose to nose, deep in an argument that Wheat had every intention of winning.

"Wheat, we got new boys and I had to make up a new schedule." Lobo tried.

"Then give the wood to one of them. That Heyes fella thinks he so smart, let him do it." He puffed out his chest, oblivious to the fact that the man he was speaking of was directly behind him.

"I have a better idea." Heyes spoke up, startling Wheat as he quickly turned around. "Let Kyle have it." Looking out, he received a smattering of confused looks. In the couple of days they'd been there, Kyle had only been given a few jobs; each had disastrous results.

"Kyle?" Wheat asked.

"You wouldn't believe it, Wheat." He softened his tone. "But Kyle is the champeen wood chomper of Iowa. He can stack a whole rick of wood in less than an hour." He turned to Lobo, "You really only want the strongest men assigned to that important of a job. The gang might go hungry or freeze to death if it ain't done right."

Beet red in the face, Wheat turned back to Lobo, "I bet I can do two full ricks in less time than him. Watch me!" Angry, he stormed off towards the woodshed.

Laughing, Big Jim clasped his hand on Heyes' shoulder, "Good job, amigo."

"Can Kyle really chomp wood that good?" Lobo asked as the crowd slowly dispersed, no longer interested in such a mundane conversation as chores.

His smile disappeared, "It'll take him all day to cut a rick and he'll stack one in the space where two should be. I'd advise you stick him with stall duty. He'll keep the saddles and gear in better shape than they've been in years, he's got a natural knack for barn work and dealing with, well…. dumb animals."

"We rotate the men on all the jobs here, keep it fair."

Heyes shifted to one foot. "Not sayin' that's a bad idea. But men got talents. Take Preacher, he can fix mess like you were eating at a high fallutin plantation, but will destroy a saddle if you let him touch it. Wheat seems strong enough to do the heavy liftin', but I'd be willing to bet he couldn't boil water. Each man has a job he'd be best at, and a job that he'd make more of a mess than it's worth."

"Our friend here is right. Perhaps rotate the men within their talents. If they have a problem with it, tell them to come see me." Jim's eyes lowered as Lobo just nodded and walked away. "You helped Joseph with the men, eh?"

"Only when I needed to. He wasn't particular on who did what, as long as the job got done. When the boys needed direction, I guess they'd just ask me."

* * *

"That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"

Once again, Wheat's voice rang out loudest. Heyes ran his hand through his hair as he exited the gang's cabin to see him, once again, berating Kyle. Wheat had seemed to take an earnest dislike to the young outlaw, always criticizing and belittling him. A day earlier, Kyle had been practicing his shooting, when he only hit one out of five – and the one was actually aimed at a different bottle – Wheat nicknamed him the one shot wonder. He seemed to take pleasure in pointing out Kyle's shortcomings, and the constant berating had gotten on Heyes' last nerve.

As he stood at the door, he listened to what the bullying was about now.

"Wheat, I swear, El Muerto is real. My pa saw him, clear as day just south of the Nueces River, ridin' his horse, no head nowhere."

"That ain't no more true than that legend about that headless horseman up in New York. I read about it in a dime novel."

"Wheat, can I have a minute?" Heyes called out, unaware that Big Jim had come out to see the commotion as well. As Wheat approached, Heyes motioned for Kyle to go about whatever it was he was doing prior to the ill-advised conversation about legends.

"What?" He asked, a little more boldly than Heyes liked.

"Look Wheat, Kyle's, well… I've been thinking about it, and see... Kyle needs guidance. He needs someone that can help him. Someone that knows this gang, someone that can lead him to be a better outlaw. Someone he can trust when he makes mistakes. Joseph, well, he did that with Kyle, helped turn him from someone that was afraid of his own shadow to the outlaw he is today. But without Joseph, I'm worried he might slide back. I thought about bein' that for him, but I'm just not sure I'm up to it." He looked out in the distance, appearing to be lost in thought. "I just don't know if he's gonna make it without someone by his side." He took a deep breath – greatly exaggerated. "We might have to send him away, back to diggin' in trash heaps for scraps of food, holdin' people up just for a dollar or two."

Wheat shifted from one foot to another. "Well, now, he ain't all that bad."

"I don't know. If the rest of the gang sees him as not pullin' his weight, they ain't gonna back him up on a job. He could get caught, or worse…"

"Well, now I ain't gonna let that happen. He's just, well…"

"You think you can help him? It's a big job. It's not even one I can do."

He puffed out his chest. "Well, you don't know Wheat Carlson, I'm one of the smartest men in Devil's Hole. If I can't do it, no one can."

Heyes smiled and slapped him on his shoulders, "That's good to hear, I know Kyle will be in good hands."

As he watched Wheat walk away, Jim came up, clasping a hand on Heyes' shoulder. "That was good, eh?"

"Doesn't always work, but it's nice when it does."

"You, uh, learned that from Joseph?"

"Back at the home, the bigger kids were always itchin' to beat up the littlier ones."

"Ah, and you worked to keep them from being beat up, eh?"

"No, I was one of the littler ones." He gave a disarming smile that Jim was quickly growing accustomed to.

"So, tell me, what is the story with Kyle?"

"Don't know, really. Never had the gall to ask."

"But he is…"

"Joseph always had a soft spot for him, wouldn't let the boys pick on him. He's just, well…" He was lost for words. "Stupid."

"But harmless, eh?"

"Oh yes! Can't shoot too straight, but makes one helluva lookout, can pick a frog out in a field of green; and he's as loyal as they come."

"And Preacher?"

"His folks were Baptist Ministers. One day, they tried to take the Gospel to the Indians in Utah. Preacher was the only one that made it back to town alive, an arrowhead in his shoulder as a keepsake. In town, he'd already started fillin' in for his pa on Sundays, but they turned him out, called him an Indian-lover. He left that night, with about half the money in the bank's safe. He met Joseph shortly after, he must'a signed on right after you left." Looking over at the kitchen, Preacher sat on the front step, his bible in hand. "He still tries to bring men to Glory, I've even seen him be successful a time or two. He's the best shot I've seen in years. Not fast, but it you're lookin' to scare somebody, he can shoot the toothpick out of a man's mouth at 90 paces."

"Good, very good." A moment of silence passed between the pair. "And you?"

"Not much to say. Raised in Kansas, left right after the war. I first ran with a man named Jim Plumber. After that gang broke up, I met Joseph."

Another moment passed. "That is all?"

"That's all I care to tell." He gave a slight smirk.

"You know, Hannibal, I've been watching you these few days. You aren't like the others. You see things differently, you know how to manage a gang of rowdy young men." Taking a few steps away, he turned. "I imagine you did something similar with your former gang?"

Heyes thought for a moment, "Perhaps. Like I told you before, Joseph didn't have much interest in having another partner. But he didn't like dealing with the boys much either."

Taking a deep breath, he thought for just a moment more, his decision made as he let out the breath. "Hannibal Heyes, Devil's Hole is one of the strongest gangs in the whole Wyoming territory. It has been three years since I lost a man to a bullet, two since I lost one to the law. I have brought in more gringo dollars than half the gangs in this region combined. Imagine what we could do together?"

"What about Lobo? Won't he be upset about losing his bunk?"

"Ah, don't worry about Lobo. He has asked no less than five times to go back into the gang bunkhouse. He hates dealing with the men, but what else could I do, he was the only one that could do the job, eh?" He paused a moment, "Until now, at least."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to sleep on it."

* * *

As Heyes slid through the open window, he took note of his surroundings. The bank was dark and empty. The teller's desks sat in the middle of the bank, note pads neatly stacked to one side, an ink pen at each station. He crept softly towards the back, to the safe that sat alone against the far wall. Removing a picture from the wall, he placed a lantern behind it, softly lighting the wick. Big Jim stood behind him, Lobo at the window they had just entered. The rest of the men were stationed strategically around town, keeping an eye out for the amorous deputy sheriff. Only James and Kyle had remained at Devil's Hole. James was still resting, having just been released from the doctor, Kyle stayed at the entrance, keeping watch.

After two hours in the saddle, Heyes gave out a slight moan as he knelt close to the safe's door, his ear pressed tightly to the metal. With each turn of the dial, he listened. Only silence greeted him. He'd gone past zero twice before he heard a faint sound. A sound so quiet that he wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it. Taking a note of the number the dial was on – a three, he turned the dial in the opposite direction, passing the original number and then slowing again, his ears aching for the sound again.

An hour had passed before he heard it again. Letting out the breath he was holding, he looked up – twenty-five. The hardest part passed, he just had one number left.

"You are almost there, aye?" Big Jim asked.

With the slightest nod, he tried to smile. The third number could be just as elusive as the first. "These things take time." He quietly answered.

Another thirty minutes, pulling the handle down, he felt it give way. The door loosened and swung open on its hinges.

"Aye, amigo!" Big Jim laughed as he handed Heyes the bag.

Inside the safe were stacks of greenback, $20,000 easily. Shoving them into the bag, he saw several boxes on the bottom shelf. With the bag in his new partner's hands, he reached down and pulled one out. Inside, glinting in the lamp light, was a diamond necklace. Worth $5,000 if it was worth a dollar. His thumb ran over one of the largest jewels, as he felt the weight of Jim's hand on his own.

"We steal money from the business, never from its customers." Jim stated, leaving no room for discussion.

Taking a deep swallow, he closed the box and replaced it. As the door to the safe closed, he spun the dial. Three, twenty-five, seventeen – he committed the number to memory, just in case the bank wasn't smart enough to change the combination.

As they rode out of town, not a threat in sight, he smiled. A bed in the Leader's cabin awaited him, his friends were safe, and he had a fair amount of money to spend. Perhaps he had truly found his new home.


End file.
